Monthly Archives: December 2015

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Qing’s asshole, now holding two of my fingers up past the first knuckle, was extremely tight. It took her a moment for her little muscled ring to yield and open for me. Still, she was very thoroughly lubed. Once my fingers were inside her, I could slip in to the second knuckle without too much difficulty.

Qing held herself tense, ass still enticingly in the air, and her face was set. She was withholding judgement but expecting this to hurt.

‘Scuse fingers.

I said, “How you going? This ok?”

“Uh.” Qing shook her head. “I hadn’t expected it to be so intimate. It’s very … invasive.”

She was staring down at her pillow, focussed on her sensations and not on me, except for two of my fingers. I smiled. “Yeah. You don’t have many secrets left, from the man with his cock up your ass.”

That was nonsense too, like a lot of things I’d said that night. But it seemed that she liked feeling invaded, and that would intensify that feeling. Qing only said, “Ohh.” And she left her mouth open after she’d said it.

I squeezed more lube into my hand, coating my fingers and inserting more into her ass. Then I slowly fucked her with my fingers, letting her imagine how my cock would be, once I was demandingly inside her. The reality of the fingers, and the proximity of my cock, seemed to be good, sensual things, and Qing’s noises were soft and appreciative.

But eventually I withdrew my fingers. Qing seemed to mind their absence.

I condomed up, coating the condom liberally, especially around the head of my cock. “You can tell me to stop and pull out any time. Or to slow down.”

Qing quirked her mouth. My solicitousness didn’t fit the experience she was having. She was enjoying being brutally fucked. By a brutal fucker. She said, “I know that. And I’m fine. Don’t fuss.”

Not so long ago she’d been warning me that this was her first time. It seemed she’d decided she could handle this without any more warnings. I smacked her upper thigh, hard, and she settled back, her arse up and presented. I took my place kneeling between her knees, my hands on her hips, and my cock nosing urgently against that lube-slicked little star. A dark star.

Qing’s asshole was new territory for me; being butt-fucked at all was new territory for her. She had yielded up new territory for the both of us.

On my first push, the head of my cock followed the wettest and easiest path, and entered just inside her cunt. I felt stupid, especially when I managed the same on my second thrust. But Qing mewed pleasurably; it wasn’t wrong from her point of view.

I lined my cock up against her asshole with my hand, and kept my cock steady while I pushed against her. After a couple of second’s of resistance, there was that sudden, dramatic opening, as Qing’s rectal muscles yielded, and I was inside her. Just the head of my cock at this stage, being held by a tight and reactive little ring.

Here’s a whipping frame I knocked up as a holiday project, using up spare bits of wood lying about the place.

The screw-in eye lags (or “screw thread eye screws”), with the circles at the end for securing the submissive’s wrist and ankle cuffs before punishing or fucking her, are the only things I had to buy especially. So the whole thing cost me about eight bucks.

Actually I’ll have to paint it, so that’ll cost a few dollars more. There is a story about the sudden creation of this artefact, and its first use, but I can’t tell it. One of my personal rules forbids that. Come back in 2020, and maybe I’ll tell it then.

Projects

I’m going to continue the Qing story tomorrow. And then I get back to the Raylene story, since that poor girl has been sitting, ignored, in her bedroom for a couple of months now. That’s embarrassing, I guess, but she prefers her humiliations more focussed and intense than that.

Scots bum-crack

Here’s a sample of kilted bum-crack.

I don’t think any woman would actually wear that on the streets of any Scottish town or city. Scotland is cold, and never mind the perverts, the place is full of Calvinists. But authenticity isn’t everything.

I’ve mentioned that the wind can be pretty obliging with little kilts. But this girl is actually inside, and there shouldn’t be any kilt-lifting gales blowing in her bedroom.

We’re being lied to, by our soft porn!

One last thing.

When I bought my kilt, and all the associated accessories, I was not offered underpants. There are Scots things I don’t go along with, like eating porridge with only salt and hot water, but I follow the kilt rules. One doesn’t wear anything under a kilt. Really. You just don’t.

But I recently discovered that tartan underpants, also knickers, do actually exist. Some chancer is making them, and some terrible, misguided, wrong people are buying them.

A couple of years ago, in Glasgow, I decided to get a kilt. I’d been to a ceilidh and I’d felt underdressed. So I went to Sauchiehall Street and got measured up for the full regalia, with a Prince Charlie jacket, sporran, sgian dubh and the rest of it.

The tailor wanted to get me the right tartan by family connection. But most of that family tartan stuff was invented in the 19th century, and mostly engages American tourists. I wasn’t especially interested. I went by “favourite philosopher” instead.

That is, favourite philosopher whose family has a tartan, which rules out the likes of Kant and Spinoza, for example. For me it came down to a choice between the Russell and Hume tartans. It took me two days thinking about the options, but in the end I had to choose Hume, with all due respect for Bertie.

The picture on the above right shows Hume in youngish middle age, with an expanding middle. But no end of a snazzy dresser.

Don’t you know a PHILOSOPHER is coming? Assume nothing! (Except for assuming the position.)

When he was young Hume was, apparently, slim as a weasel, and a regular fucker of the women and girls in nearby crofter farms.

There don’t seem to be any pictures of Hume from his short-lived young-and-skinny, girl-hound period. Later he had to get a great semi-circular chunk cut out of his dinner table, so he could still fit his stomach in and sit reasonably close to his guests.

One thing neither Hume nor his biographers ever addressed is that he was the son of the Laird, so maybe many women and girls on his father’s lands didn’t feel it was safe to turn him down.

The only copy of The Rules (1728 edition) is in the University of Edinburgh Library. But no living human has read it.

The truth is, I don’t know what the rules were about crofter-daughter fucking. Maybe it was understood that if the Laird’s son wasn’t being charming, funny and sexy, and didn’t come bearing gifts, then the crofter’s daughter could send him off with a flea in his ear, with no repercussions. Maybe fucking the Laird’s son was a rite of passage, flattering and generally fun. We don’t know what really happened, or how either party perceived it.

I can’t assume that sexual ethics were the same in rural Scotland in 1728 as they are in my tiny corner of the world today. The only Scots copy of The Rules (1728 edition) is in the University of Edinburgh Library, where it’s guarded by militant librarians hired to kill or distract anyone who asks after it. I grabbed the book, and got a glimpse at a section on what to do if the Laird’s son won’t help you deal with a fly-struck sheep. I started to read it, but … something. I forget.

Oooh! Bumcrack!

Obviously, Scotswomen often fancy Scotsmen, and the young Hume was certainly one of those. Actually, Scotswomen seem to fancy chaps of all accents and hues, which is the reason why we have so many little Scots.

And there’s a reason why men like myself wear kilts: it’s to attract Scots (also Nova Scotian and mainland Canadian) girls, who notoriously like bumcrack.

I’ve always thought of New Year as the distinctively Scots festival. But I’ve got to acknowledge the fact that they invented the kilt and put girls in it, the perverts. And that you can’t have Christmas elves and such without pretty girls in kilts.

I suppose the rest of us fell into line with liking kilts, as worn by women, because the colours are cheerful, and with the right stride they’re very flappy little skirts.

They’re supremely, easily liftable, too, if the kilted woman is in that mood. Something like a tight little black cocktail dress can take a lot of tugging and shuffling, to get it off.

But a kilt … well, as I mentioned, a puff of wind can do it. Engineering genius.

And in Scots dialect “greeting” means crying. So there are lots of “Season’s greetings” puns right there.

The Scots probably didn’t invent dakryphilia, which is the sexual appreciation of tears. Maybe the fact that “dakryphilia” is coined by a German from a Greek root is the clue, there.

Still, the people who gave us the kilt and the word “greeting” are already bdsm legends. And let’s not forget that other Scots invention, the tawse.

Here’s a tawsed girl, showing the effectiveness of that implement in behaviour modification. And skin decoration, too.

The girl is the beautiful “Linda”, and she’s German, not Scots. So’s the man wielding the tawse.

(I can always recognise that guy’s work because he always straps or canes on that angle, and – ask me – he aims a little too high.)

Anyway the Scots contribution isn’t as cool as their being mainly responsible for the Enlightenment. Still, perving up Christmas is a significant cultural achievement.

So I hope you all have some sort of sexually complicated Christmas, possibly involving nudity and activity, and greetin’: the cheers, tears, yowls and howls of happy people.

What I’d hope for (with a North American socket), but I hope everybody gets what they want.

For those who like blokes: here’s a crew of thematic guys. I covet the antlers, but.

I don’t care much about virginity. It didn’t make her ass any nicer or any worse, that no-one had had her anally before. Her ass was perfect, either way. I smacked her again, as a tribute to perfection and to keep her feeling that I was a brute and that she was about to give this utter brute her body.

Still, that didn’t explain why, a few seconds later, I felt such a strong, lust-driven need to smack her again. Or why Qing made a happy moaning sound after my hand landed. That had no thought to it. It was just pleasure and greed.

Maybe being offered her virgin ass did have a particular erotic power to to it.

It suggested trust, and I’ve always found that to be an aphrodisiac. Anyway, it was time to stop thinking. I took one of my condoms, ripped the packet open with my teeth, and rolled the thing onto my cock.

There’s a little speech I usually make at that moment, about how I’d hate it if anything hurt her, apart from good hurts that don’t count, and I’d hate it even more if I hurt her. So she should tell me at once if anything didn’t feel good. And she can set the pace, as slow and gentle or hard and fast, as she felt comfortable with. Then I cover saying no, safewords, and a few related topics.

That’s what I usually say. But intuition can tell you odd things. This time I just smacked Qing’s little bottom again. She yelped, not displeased. The skin of her ass was warm, and more pink than golden now. I used the command voice to tell her to keep that ass up and get her knees further apart so I could fuck her. If she didn’t I’d spank her till she did as she was told. And anyway, I said, she had to remember what she’d told the room back at the party: she was here to be fucked.

This was more or less complete nonsense, but Qing nodded very seriously. She didn’t know about a world where submissive girls said “yes, sir” before they obeyed an order. And she wasn’t a submissive girl. But that nod and her expression told me she was playing in their territory, though I knew she wouldn’t stay there. She spread her knees as wide as they’d go, which brought her ass down a few inches closer to the bed. Buggering her in that position would be perfectly comfortable. For me, at least.

I said, “perfect, girl.” When I smacked her again, I knew that she was waiting for it. I reached under her belly to squeeze the lips of her cunt. She’d already sucked her tummy in and spread just a little wider, to give me better access. Ah well, I thought. You know my methods, Qing: apply them.

I stroked her and found utterly, soppy wet to my touch. I want to roll her onto her back and kiss her cunt. Then fuck her. But that would distract both of us. It was, I thought for the fifth or more time, time.

So I growled, “Keep still,” so she had something to obey, and pressed my slippery left forefinger and index finger against the tight little bud of her asshole.

Nearly all my doubts were resolved, and I was entirely hard again. I put my hand on Qing’s shoulder and pressed her down, hoping that she’d like that feeling. Qing had already demonstrated that although she was essentially vanilla, she liked to feel a little strength sometimes. Anyway, it was easy enough to release her if she didn’t seem comfortable.

I thought how soon I’d be holding her down, in a supportive and consensual way, naturally, when I mounted her back and pressed the head of my cock against the little bud of her ass.

But I’d been silent too long. Qing was worried about me. She said, suddenly, “Jaime? Of course I want you. It’s all right.”

“Huh?” I was lying on my side beside her, so I kissed her shoulder where I held her, and put my right leg over both of hers. My cock pushed, blindly, against her hip. By then I’d learned that if a woman sayssomething is all right, then more often than not it isn’t.So I said,“How do you mean it’s all right?”

I smiled the kind of smile I hoped she wouldn’t see. If a man said something that impersonal to a woman, there’d be hell to pay. “Well then, it’s lucky I’m here.”

She didn’t realise I was joking. She said, quickly, “And I think it should be you. You … Well, at least you know what you’re doing. I think.”

“Qing, I’m honoured. No, seriously. And I want you. Right now especially your ass.” I took her hand by the wrist and put it on my cock, to demonstrate the point. “I absolutely want to fuck your ass.”

Qing said, “O”. She stroked gently. A hard cock is, after all, generally a sincere compliment. Then she tightened her grip so she could feel the blood, beating, throbbing for her. It’s a perfectly ordinary cock, mine, but there was no doubting its enthusiasm at that moment. She nodded. Obviously I didn’t have any doubts.

“Mmmokay. But … I mean, yes, I guess I want you to do whatever you like. So long as you do it hard.”

Since I agreed at every possible level I twisted her nipple rather than say anything. But Qing had one more thought. “Still,” she added, “remember… this is my first time”

I looked at her with disbelief, then quickly got that expression off my face. It probably wasn’t helpful. A second later she considered what she’d just said, and laughed at herself. She had an amazingly pretty smile.

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A long silence followed before Qing reacted. Slowly, as if she were a statue, unused to moving, she raised herself and pointed her ass at me. Her slender weight shifted from her tummy onto her knees. I imagined her like an ancient treebranch, pushed into reluctant movement by the wind and making creaking noises.

That thought was stupid enough to make me laugh.

Qing frowned at me, but she was puzzled, not angry. “So what’s so funny?”

“Ah, you, actually. What’s so hard about getting your ass up?”

She shook her head. “Well, it’s all right for you. You’re not the one about to get her asshole fucked.”

I said, befuddled, “Wha-?” I hadn’t known that either of us were going to get fucked up the arse, but now she’d mentioned it, if it had to be one of us I’d prefer it was her. Her arse was prettier, for one thing. But I hadn’t even mentioned her asshole, as far as I could remember. “What? But I didn’t say…”

Qing arched her back, her spine and slender ass bowed like a female cat presenting to a tom, and I stopped speaking about whatever I’d been intending to say. She said, “And it’s like, it’s my first time for that too. I’ve never even been whipped before. Or tied up, either. I mean, it’s been incredibly hot just now, but… I hardly even know you. Uh. Um. Jaime!”

She produced my name with some triumph. I said, “very excellent,” and kissed her bottom, as one should.

Qing smiled, but she wasn’t going to be distracted. “Well, it’s a lot to take in. And I’m a virgin. Well, my ass is. I’m an asshole virgin. You’re really not worried about flooding me, are you? I mean, with new experiences, you know?”

I thought about saying something to the effect that she was so hot that I’d only be worried about flooding her with come. But I couldn’t scrape enough cheese off that. It’d sound terrible. If I said I didn’t believe that “having too many new experiences” was a real thing, then we’d have an argument. I thought how boring that would be, and my cock softened.

I knew I should explain to her that by “get your ass up” I’d just meant her to present herself more submissively, and to give her an order so she could have the fun of obeying. If she wanted to. The content of the order hadn’t been important.

I wanted to be flippant about this, since it was all just a misunderstanding. But it was too late for that.

The idea of sliding my cock – well-lubed, no doubt – into her tight little anal tube had taken me over. I wanted to fuck Qing’s little ass. I wanted to hear her yelp if it hurt, and her screams when she came.

I tugged Qing’s right foot over the the edge of the bed closest to the wall, and ran the rope twice around her ankle, then tied a knot. It wasn’t a Shibari knot, or anything even remotely elegant in one of the Japanese bondage styles.

It was an ugly but effective knot I’d learned while I worked on garbage trucks to earn some money for my first year at university. I don’t even know what it’s called, but anything I tied with it would stay on the truck.

Once I’d tied Qing’s foot she tugged at the ropes, experimentally at first, then trying harder to escape. As I said, it’s an effective knot. I tighted the rope at the end connected to the bed, so she soon had little room for movement any more. Her struggles when she understood what I’d done were more determined; I knelt beside her foot and watched the muscles in her ass and her upper thighs flex and un-flex.

Her cunt sometimes seemed to open a little with her effort. So it seemed from my perspective, looking up at her from between her ankles, admiring her buttocks and that sweet little slit. Her display was beautiful, and reminded me how much I wanted to fuck her again.

That’s the thing about writhing about. If your partner is any good with rope at all, it’s not going to get you loose. On the other hand, you will be turning him, or her, on. So it’s excellent for getting you fucked enthusiastically, but doesn’t have many other uses.

But she was passive and complaisant as I took her left foot and pulled it over to the left side of the bed. That made sense: she never tried to escape, only to to struggle against her bonds after I’d tied her.

Once her left ankle was secure, and I was confident the knot would stand up to anything Qing’s slender legs, now widely spread, would manage, I left her go.

She pulled against her new bonds, twisting her upper body while her legs and feel remained tightly held and immovable. She was experiencing and demonstrating, emphatically, her sexual helplessness. Because I am who I am, that made me hard and pitiless. I like helplessness, and I love female wriggling. Especially if it has urgency, as Qing’s did. I’d untie her if she asked, but it’d be boring. I hoped she wouldn’t. In my mood I wanted to believe that I could take what I wanted.

I came up the bed a little and smacked her bottom again, so she knew where I was. I tied her wrists and hands together, behind her back as I’d promised her. Her struggles inspired in me the affection with which a lion watches a lamb. She’d fall still and rest every thirty seconds or so. She didn’t have a lot of strength, or stamina.

I slipped two fingers into her slippery wet cunt, and Qing lifted her bottom in surprise and then pleasure, clear of the bed. She had little freedom of movement but I knew that control of her cunt, which I had, meant control of any movements she did make, and of her breathing.

My finger were making her breathe hard and fast, close to orgasm, when I rolled onto her back, my cock pushed against the feminine softness of her ass and my knees between hers. My toes and knees pressed into the bed, just like hers. I let her feel my weight on her. and smacked the side of her bottom. Qing’s skin was pale in the night air, but she was warm for my hands.

Her eyes widened when my hand landed, and she celebrated or complained about the pain with a little vocal noise that sounded a bit like a hiccough. I smacked her three more times. The spanks weren’t hard, but they meant Qing had experienced something new: she’d had an adventure. Then I kissed the back of her neck.

Qing smiled, and I remembered the lion-and-lamb metaphor again. I bit her neck, then kissed the spot better. My cock pressed against her, just above her cunt.

I mentioned I had to get a new phone, a couple of days ago, after its predecessor plunged out of a Jeep and onto the carpark asphalt. And it shattered.

So I got myself a new phone and then spent even more time than it took me to buy the phone, searching for advanced cellphone covers.

My hunt soon focussed on jello-based covers.

They seemed to be the least obviously self-destructive kind on sale. And I discovered that there’s a brand that advertises itself as “feather-light, ultra-thin protection”. They meant protection … for phones.

The guys running the phone shop didn’t have filthy minds, and couldn’t see why that made me laugh. Once I understood that they hadn’t noticed how odd that wording was, to describe a phone cover, that seemed sufficient reason not to explain it to them. Let 30-year old innocence thrive!

Anyway, I bought the condom phone. You never know where I might need it to go. It does, after all, vibrate.

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